Ruby

Don't let that sweet face fool you. 

Back in the old days--two and a half months ago--I took a listing (that has yet to hit the market, but that's another story). Anyway, my seller has a standard poodle named Ruby.

From the day we met, Ruby has snarled, barked and bore her teeth my direction. I find it strange, because though I am not a dog person, dogs don't usually hate me. But this one does. And let me tell you, Ruby made it very clear she was not to be trifled with.

Now then, when I visit, I bring my own doggy treats, in hopes of winning this dog over. After all, I have spent more time with her than I have with my seller. This past weekend, we got closer, with Ruby actually letting me pet her and hanging out with me the entire time I was there. There were extended pats on the head, long scratches behind the ears and she even took a few treats right from my hands. So the seller and I were pretty sure Ruby and I were now friends.

Tuesday the photographer showed up. Ruby was locked in the (air conditioned) garage in her kennel while the photographer clicked away, making my beautiful listing look even better. And when he was gone, as a favor to the seller, I let Ruby out of her kennel with the understanding Ruby would promptly go straight to the master bedroom and stay there for the remainder of the day, patiently waiting for her mistress to return.

Well, Ruby's a bitch.

Instead, Ruby ran instantly to the glass slider door, crossing her legs and asked to be let out for her to answer nature's call. Naively, I agreed and then I spent the next 45 minutes, in the 100+ degree heat trying to get this damn dog back into the house. When I called her, she ran. When I approached her she snarled, showed me her fangs and let me know her bite was much worse than her bark.

I tried pretending to leave. Nope.

I used my strong Mom voice. Nope.

I found treats. Nope.

I fished through my client's refrigerator and found human food to give her. Nope.

I pleaded. I begged. I swore. She didn't care.

Ruby was no fool. Nor was she the least bit dehydrated or showed any signs of heat exhaustion. Unfortunately, I did. But that was probably Ruby's evil plan all along.

In the end, Ruby finally managed to make it back into the house. I was spent and rested on the cool tile floor longer than the dog. Ruby still didn't eat my treats, drink the copious amounts of water I left for her or show any regret. But for me, I once again, started rethinking my vocational choices.